A Collection of Fable III One Shots
by DuskStarDragon
Summary: Fable 3 One Shots: This is just a collection of stories that I come up with for Fable 3. Some are random, others are just a deeper look into quest and aspects of the characters' lives. Please do enjoy! I know I did writing them.
1. Attack of the Perfect Pie

Disclaimer: I do not own Fable III or any of the Characters or Stories. I DO own my own creations and stories. So do not steal. If you do, you will spontaneously combust and I will laugh at the ashes of your remains.

I really need to put that in my Profile so I don't have to keep spelling it out.

Hello everyone, it's DuskStarDragon again and I'm here with a one shot story. I just needed to take a break from my other stories and do something a little bit more fun. I wasn't planning on doing anything for Fable III, but this story just popped into my head. Depending on if I like doing this or how well people respond to it, I might just do a collection of these.

This is a story about the young Prince (whom I call Alastair) with his dog, Rook and his days in Brightwall before he became its Hero. He's just trying to earn some money so he can buy the appropriate items for his Mercenary disguise. Of course since he's never earned a gold coin in his life, he's finding it rather difficult…

Leave a review if you wish. I'll thank you in my current Fable II story, _In the Shadow of the Mask_, when I update.

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><p><strong>Attack of the Perfect Pies<strong>

"I'm sorry but I don't be needing your kind of help," the shopkeeper shooed him out the door.

"I was… I just wanted to…," Alastair tried to explain as he was forced out the door.

"I understand that you're looking to earn some money," the shopkeeper stopped at the door, "But you would be better off begging."

SLAM… he nearly slammed the door in his face.

He stood there for a moment, not really knowing what to do. He didn't think that he did that bad of a job. Sure he knocked over a few manikins and put the wrong shirts with the wrong pants. And sure he marked down the wrong price on most of the items. And he did spill ink all over the most expensive outfit in the shop.

"I suppose I should be lucky that he didn't charge me for it," he turned to his dog.

The dog stood up and lazily stretched with a big yawn.

"Not interested in my problems I see," he sighed, "Not they're your problems anyway. What do you say Rook?" he stretched himself; "You want to head up the Academy and get some rest for the night?"

He playful bow and gave a sharp bark.

"I'll take that as a yes," he laughed to himself, "You know," they both started to walk up the cobble stone street to the Academy, "You're going to have starting putting something into these conversations. I just can't keep doing all the talking. People might think that I'm talking to myself."

He did notice a few people staring at him as he talked to his dog. It really didn't matter. He stood out anyway. His clothes were a tad too regal, as Walter had put it. The Dweller outfit that he bought for his meeting with Sabine was okay, but impractical for the streets of Brightwall.

"Though… I think I would stand out more than I already do," he spoke to his dog like he knew what he was thinking.

Rook only cocked his head in confusion at his words.

"Oh well," he shrugged his shoulders.

The rest of their walk was uneventful. People politely nodded their heads and greeted the pair with a "good evening" or "nice night". A few beggars sat on the side of the street asking for alms. The young Prince turned his eyes away from them. It wasn't that they were repulsive or horrid, but he couldn't give them anything. It's not that he didn't have money. He managed to save a little from the assortment of odd jobs that he'd done around town, but he needed the money. He needed every gold piece he could save. It was for the good of all if he could fulfill his quest as soon as possible. Right?

"Ah, good evening young Prince and furry friend," Samuel greeted the pair as the Prince pushed the heavy oak doors closed.

"You can call me Alastair," he smiled as he came up to the librarian's desk, "It would probably be for the better," he hinted that he didn't want his brother's soldiers to find out where he was.

"Oh yes… terribly sorry your highness… I mean Alastair," Samuel corrected himself, "I pray that your job at Frou Frou Frocks went well?"

"If you mean that I'm not welcomed back, then yes," Alastair could only smile at his complete failure to earn money.

"I see," Samuel understood, "I suppose you will want to wake early again and try your luck elsewhere in town?"

The Prince sighed, "What else can I do? I need the money, but I've been to just about every shop in town and been kicked out of each one. I don't know what else to do," he looked up at the aging librarian.

"Well…," he thought for a moment, "I might have something for you… but I have to check with someone first. If you can wait until the morning, I will see what I can do for you."

"Thank you so much Samuel," Alastair grabbed his hand and shook it, "It means a lot to me. I don't know how I can repay you for all the kindness you've given me and Rook."

"Well," Samuel wasn't sure what to say, "I only pray that you will be able to restore Brightwall Academy to its former glory… the way your Mother had intended it to be…"

"I will," Alastair let go of his hand, "You will see the day when this Academy will have people learning once."

This made the old Librarian smile, "I certainly will enjoy that day. As for now, you best get some rest, you and your furry companion. I will inform you of what I have found in the morning after you wake."

"Thank you," he thanked him again, "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep."

"Do try," Samuel came around the desk, "I will see you in the morning. Goodnight your Highness."

"Goodnight Samuel," Alastair bid him farewell.

The Prince could barely sleep that night in the former dormitories. He was lucky that Samuel was letting him stay at the Academy. He could have stayed at the Sanctuary, but he always had strange dreams whenever he slept there. Strange visions of a past that was not his danced about his head when he lay his head there to rest. At least at the Academy, he had a roof over his head and he didn't have to pay. He didn't realize it, but soon he fell asleep.

The next morning…

"She can be a little harsh," Samuel warned Alastair as they walked down the cobble stone street, "So it's best to turn the other cheek. Oh," something else came to mind, "Call her Mama Rita… she rather hates being called ma'am or madam."

"I'll make sure to be as polite as possible," Alastair assured him.

"Oh good," Samuel nodded his head, "Her stall is just down this way."

It wasn't too far from the Academy where they were going. It was a set the circle where several stalls were set up. The furniture and clothing shops were also located there. The vendors were already calling out about their goods and their low prices. They each tried to get Samuel and the Prince to buy something, but they just politely said they weren't interested.

"Ah," Samuel stopped in front of an empty stall, "She should be here any moment."

"What exactly does Mama Rita sell?" Alastair asked.

"Well… she makes pies and sells them to passersby and the local pub," Samuel explained, "I hope that you don't mind working as a pastry chef young Prince."

He was about to correct him, but Samuel had found him a job, so he let it side.

"Oh Samuel!" a woman's voice came from behind them, "Is this the little roller that you promised me?"

Alastair turned around to find a rather large woman carrying several baskets overflowing with all sorts of fruits, eggs, milk and flour. Her cheeks were redder than any apple that he had ever seen. The smile on her faced went from ear to ear. Her makeup was a tad to overdone, but who was he to say if it was. She dressed in a similar fashion that most of the women in Brightwall did, save for the fact that her dress seemed to show more of her curves and she certainly had many of those.

"He is a little cutie pie," she set down her things on the wooden stall, "Let me take a good look at you," she smiled as circled him, "Oh his is a cute one," she came back around him, "Good strong arms too," she picked one of his arms and released it, "And a face as sweet as a cherub. I like he'll do just fine."

"He's a hard worker," Samuel promised her, "He will try his hardest."

"I know he'll do fine," she smiled, "Now young man what is your name?"

"Alastair and this is Rook," he gave her a small bow.

Her cheeks turned a brighter shade of red, "Oh now, you don't have to be acting so polite. I'm just a humble pie maker. Tell me, do you have any experience making pies?"

"Well," he thought back to when he and his mother would sneak into the kitchen late at night and make all sorts of delicious things, "I did it when I was little."

"Oh good," she smiled, "You never forget how to make a good pie. Now come along," she shooed him behind the counter, "We have a long day ahead of us. Don't worry Samuel; I'll take care of both of them."

"Please do," Samuel nodded his head, "I'll come by later to see how things are doing."

"Goodbye Samuel," Rita waved.

"Thank you Samuel," the Prince waved as well.

Samuel walked back up to the Academy to do whatever it was that he did there.

"Alright my little cutie pie," she started to unpack her baskets, "I'm going to be making the fillings and you'll be making crusts. I've already made some dough, you just have to rolled them out and place them in the pans and once I've filled them, you put the top crust on. Then once we have enough, I'll take them to be baked."

"Sounds easy enough," Alastair nodded his head.

"Oh it's a little bit more difficult than you think," her voice chimed.

As she pulled out several round bundles, she started to explain all the problems that could occur while rolling out dough. He never knew that rolling dough could be so complicated.

"Did you get all that?" she asked as she handed him a rolling pin.

"Um… yeah," he answered in an unsure tone.

"Good," she started to peel some green apples, "Well go on and start rolling so we can get this pies going."

He reached over, grabbed a chuck of dough and threw it on the lightly floured counter. Now a little worried, he carefully started to roll it flat. He rolled and rolled until it was just right. Mama Rita looked over and complimented his natural rolling abilities. He blushed, but continued to roll. People would stop by and look at the pies being made, but they weren't buying. She was getting a little down, until Rook decided to entertain the people with his antics and tricks. More and more people gathered and started to buy pies. By noon all the pies were bought up and the stall had to be close for awhile.

"What a good day," Mama Rita wiped her brow, "And might I say that you made the most lovely of pies. I've never seen such wonderful dough work. You should really think about doing this for a living."

"Ah… well," Alastair scratched his head, "I really…"

"I know, I know," she smiled, "Young men like you want to go off into the world," she sighed, "I'll be back in just a little bit. I'm going to go and check on the pies in the over back home. Can you stay here and watch the stall? I won't be long."

"Alright," he wiped his own brow, "You won't mind if I sit, do you?"

She smiled, "Go on my dear. You deserve a little rest. I'll bring back something to eat for the both of you."

"Thank you Mama Rita," he sat down on the ground next to the stand.

She gave one more smile and was off down the street to check on her pies. Rook laid down next to him and gave a big yawn.

"Now don't be… Yawn… be doing that," Alastair couldn't help but yawn.

He leaned his head up against the wooden stall and closed his eyes. Surely there would be no harm in doing that. The world started to flicker in and out as he closed his eyes. The calls of the vendors faded and everything drew quickly.

…

"AAAAGGGGG!" someone screamed awoke the sleeping Hero.

He quickly shot up from his slumber. Looking around, he tried to find the source of the screaming. His dog was already up and the fur on his back stood straight on end. The vendors were gone from their stalls and all the doors were closed.

"RUN!" the beggar from the other day ran down the street.

"What? What is going on? Who is attacking?" Alastair looked to see who was chasing him.

"PIES! The pies are coming!" he continued to run.

"Pies," he looked down to Rook.

He didn't seem to play much mind to him. The dog just stood there growling and barking at where the beggar ran from.

"AAAAGGGGG!" another scream came up from the Academy.

"Come on boy!" he drew his sword, "Let's go check it out!"

They ran up the street towards the commotion.

A woman with red stains on her dress ran up to him, "Please good sir! They are attacking my husband!"

"Who is?" he asked.

"The… the…," she stuttered.

"Who?" he asked one more time.

"Them!" she pointed up at an object flying towards them.

It was round and about the size of a platter.

"Is… is that a…," Alastair cocked his head in disbelief.

"A PIE!" the woman ran off.

The flying bakery good noticed the frantic woman escape and changed its direction.

"No you don't!" he jumped in its path.

He could now see in detail the creature he was about to fight. Its main body seemed to be made up of the pie tin, while the face was the crust. Two slits formed the eyes and another was its nose. A crack in the crust formed its mouth and the rigid cut made it look like it had sharp teeth that could tear through any flesh. It opened its mouth and Alastair could see that it was full of cherry filling.

"HAHAHAHA!" it laughed manically as it approached him.

He swung his sword, but it hover just out of reach. It continued to laugh as he repeatedly missed. He gritted his teeth as he gripped his sword tighter. He swung one more time and made contact. Right down the middle his sword cut through both pie and tin. It hung for a moment in the air, and then suddenly turned on its side. Two halves started to laugh at him now. He had only doubled his trouble. The pie halves now flew about his head. They rammed into him, covering him in their devious, but delicious filling. Rook tried his best to grab the pie halves, but they were just out of reach. Alastair was growing tired of this hit and run tactic.

Summoning the fire within himself, he felt the heat built up in his gauntlet. Waiting for them to move into position, Alastair held onto the fire.

"There!" they moved into the right place.

The energy released from his body and shot forth from his hands. The fire surrounded him in a massive flame. The smoke and fire cleared. The pie halves laid at his feet; charred and no longer laughing.

"That… that was strange," he looked to Rook.

Rook only sniffed the burned pies and started to lap up the untouched filling.

"Really?" Alastair shook his head.

"AAAGGGG!" several more screams were coming from the town square.

Alastair gritted his teeth, "Save you appetite boy. I think there's going to be more pie than you can handle."

He gave one bark and started to run towards the screams. Alastair was right on his tail. Several people ran passed him as he made his way to the square. Some were covered in blood and filling, while others were just in horror to what they were witnessing. He finally came over the bridge to the square. He couldn't believe his eyes.

Pies… twenty or so, were flying around the square attacking the citizens of Brightwall. People lay on the ground, large gaping wound torn into their bodies. Their red blood was flowing out and draining into small creek that ran through town. It was a horror scene that only the most twisted of imaginations could make up. The pies noticed the Hero's entrance. They flew towards him. Their mouths opened, blood and filling dripping out, they wanted fresh flesh.

He brought up his sword, but thought for a moment. No, the sword only made it worse. It was fire that seemed to work the best. He once again summoned the fire with in and held it until they drew close. Five of them came close enough; he released his spell. They burned to a cinder and flew to the ground. The other pies, seeing their flaky comrades toasted; held their position.

"What a naughty little boy you are," a familiar voice rang through the air.

Turning around, he came face to face with Mama Rita. She had a sour look on her face. Her eyes seemed to glow red. She also seemed much rounder than before.

"Now why would you go and destroy such perfectly good pies?" she asked as she took a step back.

"They're killing people!" Alistair yelled at her.

"My children are hungry," a smile came to her face, "Don't my children deserve to eat? They will be oh so delicious after they've eaten a little more. Don't you want people enjoy the fruits of your labor? You did make all of them after all."

"You're insane," Alastair shook his head.

"No," she grew bigger and bigger, "I'm just a humble pie maker."

BOOM! She exploded. Her clothes rained down onto the Hero and his dog. He covered his eyes, but quickly opened them. There floated before him the biggest pie he had ever seen. It was about as big as a water wheel. And just like the little pies, it had two slits for eyes and a cracked mouth.

"I'm boysenberry filled just so you know," the pie sounded like Mama Rita, "Come my children!" she called, "Eat this Hero and claim his Will as your own."

What was left of the monster pies flew at him; their mouths dripping with filling in anticipation of their delightful meal. He stood his ground and summoned his spell. They noticed the burning intensity that glowed from his gauntlet. Stopping in midair, they waited for him to release his spell.

"Ha ha ha," the large pie laughed, "You think that will work again. My children are smarter than that."

"Well so am I," he threw a fireball at one of the pies.

It wailed for a moment before it fell to the ground; forever silent. The others looked at burning pie to the Hero and back to their fallen brother. They flew into a rage and started to buzz all around him. He threw fireball after fireball; taking one down at a time. The last one fell in a burning heap.

"Now," he turned to the big pie, "It's your turn to burn."

"We'll see about that," the big pie laughed.

She flew about the town square much quickly than the smaller ones. Alastair tried to hit with fireball after fireball, but she was able to dodge them with ease. She continued to laugh at his futile attempts.

"Not such a great Hero after all," she mocked.

He gritted his teeth. There had to be some way to defeat the nightmarish confectionary delight.

"She's too quick," he commented out loud, "Can't hit out here… maybe I can…," a crazy idea came to him, "Come on! You want me? Come and get me!" he taunted her.

"If you insist," she opened her mouth wide and flew towards him.

He was going to have to time this just right. He had to build up as much Will as he could stand. She was almost there. Her mouth dripping with red goo, she opened her mouth as wide as she could.

CHOMP! GULP! The Hero was gone in one bite.

"HA HA HA HA HA," she laughed in victory, "I feel his Will coursing through me. I shall now become… Huh? What is this pain? Why do I burn inside? AAAAGGGGG!" she screamed.

BOOM! She exploded into thousands of burning ashes.

He stood there for a moment, covered in boysenberry filling. Looking around, he saw that he was victorious.

The doors opened and people began to fill the streets. They could see that the demonic pies had been defeated. They looked to Alastair and let out a great cheer.

"HOORAY!" they exclaimed, "The pies are dead!"

"I guess we did good, eh boy?" he looked to Rook.

Rook started to lick off the red filling that now covered his body.

"Taste good?" he laughed.

"Good job," someone patted him on the back.

It was Walter and there was a big grin on his face.

"Not exactly the kind of enemy I was expecting to fight when I became a Hero," Alastair smiled.

"There are all sorts of enemies little brother," a voice came through the crowd.

"Logan," Alastair out his sword, "What are you doing here?"

Logan bowed lowly to him, "I am here to give thanks to the Hero that rid Albion of its greatest threat, The Great Pie Queen. She has terrorized the land for centuries and destroyed countless villages and towns. I tried to kill her, but she always slipped away," he took the crown from his head, "In recognition of your bravery and your ability to kill such a dangerous creature, I turn Albion over to you," he place it upon Alastair's head, "Tat tat little brother. There's a key to the castle underneath the welcome mat," he walked over to Walter, "Let's go and have an adventure!" he offered his arm.

"Let's," Walter accepted it.

They went arm in arm and skipped out of the square and straight of Brightwall. Alastair just stared at the two as they merrily went on their way.

"What the…?" he managed to get out.

"Congratulations Hero," a voice echoed through the air.

"Theresa?" he looked around.

"You are now famous enough to be called the Pie Slayer for your victory over the Great Pie Queen," her voice faded.

"What?" the world was not making sense.

…

"Cutie pie? You okay honey?" someone was shaking him gently.

"HUH?" he shot up.

"You fell asleep," Mama Rita round smiling face was over him.

"AGG!" he slipped on the cobble stone as he tried to get away from her as quick as he could.

"Now what was that all about?" Mama Rita threw her hand on her hip in confusion.

Rook only looked up at her with the same confused look.

"Is everything alright?" Samuel asked as Alastair ran passed him.

"He's alright," Mama Rita came up to him, "I think he had a nightmare or something while he was waiting for me. I lose a lot of good rollers like that."

"Really?" Samuel was surprised.

"Oh yes," she nodded her head, "Not everyone can handle the duties of rolling out dough. It is a very serious and taxing duty."

"It must be," Samuel agreed as he watched Alastair run into the Academy.

"Here," Mama Rita reached around, "Give this to him for all his trouble. It's his pay for the day and a boysenberry pie that he helped me make earlier. You two can share it later."

"Oh thank you," Samuel took the pie and sack of gold, "I'll make sure he gets it."

"You do that," she smiled, "Please tell him that he's welcomed to come back and help me anytime. He makes the most perfect pies," her smile went from ear to ear.

The End!


	2. The Muddy Footprints

I had so much fun writing _Attack of the Perfect Pie _that I decided to do another one shot for Fable III. I think I shall do a collection of them. At least I'll have some fun and maybe you will too. One shots, believe it or not, are difficult to write. You've only got chapter to get everything out and hope that it isn't too smashed together. I know with mine that they will end up being quite long. Maybe I should write two shots. Nah… Oh well. Leave a few words if you want or not. I don't care. I'm just doing these to have some fun and hope that you do too.

This is a story about Jasper, the Royal Butler that is now in charge of the Sanctuary. Have you ever wondered what he does when the Prince is not in need of his services? His life has certain changed since he left the castle with Walter and Prince Alastair. However, he still continues in his duties either out of routine or boredom. Of course, he does have a lot of time to himself… too much in fact…

Have some fun!

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><p><strong>The Muddy Footprints<strong>

"Oh dear," Jasper sighed he looked at the muddy footprints that lead from the Dressing Room to the Main Chamber of the Sanctuary.

It didn't bother him so much about the mess… well it did bother him… a lot actually. He always tried to keep a clean and tidy home… or in this case a magical stronghold that he really didn't know where it was located. Either way, it was his duty to uphold rigid standards of cleanliness and organization… well, what he defined anyway. There really weren't any rules that he had to obey. He could only guess that he continued his duties because he had served as a Butler to the royal family for so long. It was part of his daily routine that he had developed over the years. It didn't matter whether it was in the Castle or a place that was neither here nor there. Of course his day was still full… even though his young ward and master, Prince Alastair, was not around often.

"I guess I'll have to get the brush and a bucket of hot soapy water," he sighed once more, "Better start in the Dressing Room… don't want the carpet to stain. It is a rather lovely… the Old Queen always did have good taste," he mumbled to himself as he headed to his make shift cleaning closet.

The Sanctuary was mainly meant for the young Prince, though the old Hero Queen had the foresight to consider Jasper needs. She left him a pleasantly attired room with an assortment of books. The larder was always full and never needed to be replenished. As for the supply closet, he only needed to think of something and it seemed to appear out of nowhere the next time he looked. How it all worked, he dare not ponder or presume. She knew that he would be in charge of the care of the place. As for how long, he couldn't guess or even phantom. It wasn't his job to ask questions, maybe answer a few. It was only proper behavior of a well trained Butler to do as he is told and take care of his duties. He was a well trained Butler after all.

"Ah," he pulled out his favorite cleaning supplies, "Here they are… just where I left them… though," he looked around, "Where… where is the soap and vinegar… I'm sure that I left them in here…"

He had only used them the other day. Prince Alastair's faithful companion decided that his bed would make the most excellent towel. Mud is one thing, but when combined with sewer muck and the distinct smell of wet dog… well… it took a lot of soap and vinegar to get that mess out. Jasper shuttered at the thought of doing that cleanup again.

"He is a lovable mutt," Jasper commented to himself as he tried to trace his steps from the day before, "But like his master, he tends to leave little messes everywhere… more so than when he was a pup."

He laughed to himself. He could remember when the Prince first got the dog. It was only six years ago. A gift from an explorer, she said that the dog would make the most excellent companion for the Prince, since his brother, King Logan, was always out and about in those days. It was rather unusual now that Jasper thought about it, the whole situation that is.

She had come to meet with King Logan about a strange artifact that she had found on a distant shore.

"Where I can't quite remember," he pondered out loud, "And I can't remember her name now that I think about it… it was something simple… maybe one or two syllables…"

He did remember that he lead the explorer into the Royal Library. She looked very weary from her journey. Walter had said that she got in that morning, but demanded that she spoke with the King immediately. She wouldn't say what exactly she needed him see him about, but Walter seemed to trust her. If Walter trusted her, then she must have been alright.

"Though I do remember a few armed guards standing at the doors," he recalled.

King Logan arrived just as Jasper filled the young lady's teacup. She stood up, slowly, to greet the King and bow to him lowly. He insisted that she need not too, but she also insisted in paying respect to the son of the Old Hero Queen… also the fact that he was the King of Albion. They had an hour long meeting. Jasper wasn't present for it and it would have not been proper to stand and listen through the doors. After the meeting, King Logan left the room, ecstatic about something. The explorer left the room after him with a sigh and a disturbed look on her face. Jasper had asked if she was alright. She only smiled and said that she was just tired from all that she had seen and heard. She then asked if she could go to the garden and take in some fresh air. It was a simple request. He could only oblige her. Escorting her to the inner garden, he guided her to a lovely spot that overlooked the Queen and King's tomb. She bowed to the monument before she sat down. Taking in a long breath, she seemed to ease with the quiet surroundings.

"It didn't remain quite for long," Jasper laughed to himself.

Out the doors the young Prince did fly. He ran around the loose stone pathways making all sorts of noises. The gardeners tried their best to ignore Prince Alastair's antics, but he ran in between them and scattered their tools. Jasper couldn't stand it anymore and took the Prince aside for a scolding. He looked up at the old Butler with sad eyes. He was sorry, but he also complained that he was bored and there was no one to play with. The explorer called him over. He looked to Jasper, who motioned for him to properly greet the young lady.

"He did do a marvelous job… bowing and everything," Jasper commented.

She only smiled and rubbed his head, messing up his perfectly groomed hair that Jasper had done that morning. Leaning over the bench's arm rest, she pulled her worn leather bag on to her lap. It was the first time that Jasper had noticed, the bag was starting to move and wiggle like something was trying to escape from it. She opened it and out popped the head of a furry, black and white creature. The Prince jumped back in surprise and hid behind Jasper. He could only laugh as the little animal barked and drooled. The explorer joined him and explained to the young Prince that the animal was a dog… a puppy to be exact.

"I could understand his surprise. There aren't many dogs that roam Albion these days," he sighed, "The Old Hero Queen always had her faithful, furry companion by her side."

The pup jumped out of the bag and landed on its head. The Prince came out of his hiding place and approached the pup. It shook its head and looked up at the Prince. With a little hop, it was in the Prince's arms, licking his face. Jasper tried to hide his disgust and only wanted to pull out his handkerchief to wipe away the vile ooze. The explorer said that she found the pup wandering the forest outside of Bowerstone. She said with a sigh that she couldn't take care of it properly, since she travels all over the world. Jasper knew what was coming next. Prince Alastair looked up at him with hopeful eyes. He started to ask, but Jasper stopped him.

Jasper remembered the look on the Prince's face when he gave him his answer, "He was so elated. His grin went from ear to ear. If I recall correctly, he danced about with the pup in his arms and nearly dropped him."

The explorer stood up and said for the Prince to take the best care of him. He promised up and down that the puppy would be treated to best things in life. She seemed satisfied by this. She bowed to both of them and excused herself. Just before she got to the stairs, she turned to the Prince and said the pup will be a good friend only if he was a good friend in return. She bowed once more and took her leave. Jasper looked down at his new ward. A drooling little fur ball along with an already hyper young boy. What a pair they would make… what a mess they could.

"Either way," Jasper shrugged, "That dog has been a good friend for him and has gotten him through much. Though it's been a little bit more of a cleanup for me," he had to admit, "Not that I mind… it is my duty…"

He came out to the main chamber and sighed as he looked down at the muddy tracks. The tiles he didn't worry so much about. It was the pristine white grout that would be the hardest to clean.

"The white vinegar should take that out," he mumbled to himself, "that is if I can find it," he came up to the dog bed.

There they were the vinegar and soap, right where he thought they may be.

"Excellent," he congratulated himself, "Now I can start at that mucky mess in the Dressing Room."

Picking up the soap and vinegar, he made his way back to the closet to gather the rest of his arsenal. With a warm bucket of water, he headed for the Dressing Room. He slowly got down on the floor. It was an unhurried motion. It's not like he had to prepare for guests, nobles or dignitaries. It was just him, the Prince, his dog and maybe Walter if he felt like it, though he preferred the pubs. Still, he was living there and muddy footprints were not acceptable. It was his duty to keep things organized and clean.

He laughed to himself, "I do believe that I'm thinking in circles."

His self amusement lasted for a moment, for he needed to concentrate on the task at hand. Dipping the brush into the bucket, he lightly rubbed the soap into the bristles. He scrubbed and dabbed the disappearing footprint gingerly as so not to rub in the stain.

"It seems to be coming out," he commented his own work, "Just a little white vinegar to pull out the rest," he splashed some onto a clean towel.

He had gotten rather good at removing mud stains from carpet and tile alike. The Old Hero Queen was quite notorious for leaving a trail behind her. Jasper couldn't blame her; she wasn't raised in a… suitable or proper home. Leaving her mud caked boots at the door was something that he had to constantly remind her to do. Every few days he would have to get the maids to give the main foyer a good scrubbing due to the Queen's absentmindedness.

"Of course I had to teach those girls and all who came after them how to clean appropriately," he sighed as he blotted up the stain, "Even taught the Queen…"

It was late one night that he lay awake in his bed. For some odd reason he couldn't sleep. He got up and dressed. He was sure that he left something undone or a book out of place. It was best to check; otherwise he wasn't going to get a wink that night. He wondered from room to room, looking for anything that was out of place. Everything was properly put away and as clean as he or the staff had left. He even peeked in on King Logan.

"He, at the time," he corrected himself, "was a Prince."

He lay sweetly in his bed, sound asleep. Seeing that he was alright and where he should be. His next stop was to check on their majesties, the Queen and King. He opened the door so slightly. He could make out the King sleeping on his usually side of the bed, but the Queen was absent. He sighed. She had left without a single person noticing.

"She always did love to sneak out in the middle of the night," Jasper nodded his head.

It was just one of her many strange habits that he had grown use to. He knew right where she would enter. All he could do was to wait for her. He headed to the side door that lead to the inner garden. The path she took, he didn't know. It was something that she had made or found so that she could leave the castle anytime she wished. Jasper didn't know why she would want to spend time in a dirty pub with all sorts of characters. It wasn't his cup of tea, but who was he to rebuke or deny the Queen her simple pleasures. A noise coming from the small entrance way caught his attention. Someone was mumbling and cursing along with the sound of scrubbing. He came quietly upon a scene that tickled him so. The Queen was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor. There were several muddy footprints caked on the marble floor. She was furiously swirling the brush around, trying to scrape off the mud. In his opinion, she was just spreading the mess.

He cleared his throat to get her attention. She looked up at him and smiled. Her cheeks turned red with embarrassment. She greeted him and said that she was just passing by and saw the mess and thought she would clean it up. He folded his arms; she knew she was caught. He only stared as she profusely apologized for the mess she made. She didn't want to disturb anyone so late. She was only trying to clean it up. Jasper shook his head. With a little laugh, he explained that she was doing it all wrong. Helping her up, he took her by the hand and started to explain proper materials and tools for cleaning up mud on a tile floor. For most, it would have been a strange sight to see an old Butler and the Hero Queen of Albion scrubbing the floor at three in the morning. For most it would have been, but not for Jasper. He had grown use to the Queen's quirks as he had grown use to the Prince's.

"Funny how so many memories can be brought about by such a mundane task," he was rather enjoying himself.

"Jasper?" a voice came from the Main Chamber.

"In here," he called as he continued to scrub and blot.

"Oh Jasper," Prince Alastair entered the Dressing Room.

"Good day Sir," Jasper greeted him from the floor.

The Prince noticed the muddy footprints, "I'm sorry… I didn't realize the mess I had left. Let me help you," he offered.

"Oh no," Jasper stood up, "I will take care of it. I don't mind."

"Still," he sighed, "I can do more around here. We aren't in the Castle anymore."

"Really it's alright young Sir," Jasper smiled, "I don't mind. I love getting lost in the memories…"


	3. Blackened Chicken

It's time for another one shot! I've been feeling rather down on myself lately and not wanting to write. I couldn't even look at my email account to see if anyone had left a review for me… I knew there would be none. I tried working on my original piece of fiction, but felt no inspiration. I just decided to work on my Fable III game. I started over and watched the opening scene. As I watched the poor chicken run about for his freedom, I realized that I was being childish. I shouldn't be down on myself or stop writing just because people aren't reviewing. I should write because it is for those that do read. Sure they don't let me know what they think, but hey, they come back and check up on the story. So after kicking myself in the pants a few times, which hurt very much by the way, I decide to write a story about the chicken that risked everything to do the impossible.

Fable III Hero Chicken, this one is for you!

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><p><strong>Blackened Chicken<strong>

"Now where did that chicken go off to?" the chef yelled as he searched about the kitchen.

"Maybe it got up and walked away," one of the servants answered in a snotty tone.

"Don't be getting snippy with me," he threatened, "Lady Elise will be coming soon and I want everyone on their best behavior."

"Ya… don't want to end up like that factory worker," the servant shook her head.

"What factory worker?" another overheard the conversation.

"It's been going all over Bowerstone Industrial," she was surprise that he hadn't heard of the incident.

"Don't be starting rumors," the chef warned her.

She ignored him.

All the servants started to gossip now. Little bits and pieces of the incident that happened earlier that morning came to light. Each had some information that the others didn't. The chef tried to stop the growing conversation and fear, but he only got angrier. They were too occupied with one another that they didn't notice a frantic blackened chicken dart from underneath a black pot.

He ran out of the kitchen at full stride, trying ever so hard to spread his wings and soar to new heights. With his heavy body and short wings, he could only flutter off the ground for a few moments. He didn't care. He wanted to fly. To fly with the gulls, pigeons and doves that lined the rooftops and ships. He had the wings… he had the courage… he just needed the flight.

"What is that?" a young man asked.

"I think it's a chicken," the young woman with him remarked.

"Where did it come from?" the man stood in front of the fleeing chicken.

"From the looks of it," the woman looked to the doorway, "I would say the kitchen."

"Should we take it to the chef?" the man looked to the woman.

He wasn't sure what a 'chef' was, but if it was that man that had that stick that made that horrible sound and frightened him nearly to death, he wasn't going to stick around. Jumping up into the air, he ran through the man's legs at full speed.

"Whoa!" the man nearly fell over.

"You okay Alistair?" the woman grabbed his arm.

"I'm fine Elise," he smiled as he watched the frantic bird sprint across the courtyard, "He's earned his freedom I think. Besides, I have a staff to speak to."

The rest of the conversation wasn't heard or really all that important… to him anyway. He just knew that he had to keep running until he was far enough away from that place. Where he was going, he didn't care at the moment. When he was going to stop… right about now.

Scratching his back claws deep into the dirt, he stopped at a set of stone stairs. Taking in a few deep breaths he looked back to see if anyone was coming after him. Not a single person came from the doorway that he had just exited. There were people there, where he was, but they didn't seem to pay mind to his presence or cared that he was there. They just went about their business, either digging in the dirt or sweeping away dust that had accumulated on the decorative stones and stairs.

He could breathe easier at the moment. His chest swelled up and down as he took in the fresh air. There was a sweetness that he hadn't notice before. Of course… he had been fleeing for his life and didn't have time to take in the scenery or atmosphere. This place… wherever it was, was not like place he had grown up in. The stone building that towered over him was pristine and white. His former home was dark and dingy. He could remember pecking at the walls when he was chick and a thick, black goo coming off… it tasted rather foul from what he could remember. No, this place was clean and smelled of… well he wasn't quite sure what he was smelling.

He knew that the stuff under his feet was dirt; he was use to scratching around in that. He knew that the stairs and building was made of stone; he had been surrounded by it all of his life. Well… that and wood fencing. The green stuff… he wasn't quite sure. It looked like what some of the older hens called grass. The green stuff with different colored tops might have been flowers, but he had never seen them before. So he couldn't say if they were or were not. It really didn't matter though. Whatever they were, they were pretty. In fact the whole scene that lay out before him was pleasant to look at. Green stuff grew around an easy to walk dirt and stone path. The dirt was soft and easy to scratch. There was a sweetness to the air that calmly blew through the place. The sun was shining down upon him and warmed his feathers and skin… though that might have been from the burns he got from the fire. It didn't seem to matter though. All was well in this quiet, peaceful place.

He felt his muscle relax as his mind mingled with the lovely scene. His breaths were long and deliberate as he tried to take in as much as he could. This wasn't like the place he was born in… this must have been paradise. He released a heavy sigh as he sat down on the cold stone. It soothed his weary legs and cooled his sore backside.

He toyed with the idea that he had died… when, he couldn't decide upon. Maybe he had never escaped from the man with the stick that shot fire. Maybe he was burned to a crisp by the flames that engulfed him. Maybe his time came when all those men with their fire sticks shot them at that man. Maybe he had been trampled to death by the men in red. Or maybe, he had never shot pasted the man that held him and his kind prisoners. It didn't matter. He was finally someplace where he could rest in peace and not have to worry about where he was being taken next.

Flutter… flutter… a rustling noise came from above him.

Turning his head lazily, he saw several doves taking off from the statue in the middle of his paradise. They flew through the air with grace and ease. They dove and darted like husks whipping about in the wind. Turning and twisting, they fluttered back down to earth. They weren't bound to the ground… not like he was. They could jump up into the air and leave the world behind them. They didn't have to stay in one place, unless they wanted to. They decided where they wanted to go. They were masters of their fate.

He looked down at the scene that he called paradise. Sure it was nice and all, but he could not go wherever he pleased. There was a stone fence beyond where he was sitting, just like at home. The stone building offered him no sanctuary… the man with the fire stick lived there. The dirt paths were easy to scratch and dig through, but one could only do that for so long before it became a chore. Sure he could live a good life here, but what good would it be? He could only go to certain places. There were people about that could start to go after him if they took notice. The man with the fire stick would most likely go after him again. No… this was no paradise… it was like any other place he had been before. It was a prison… with a pleasant odor… and good dirt… and green stuff with pretty colored tops… but it still was a prison.

He stood up with a renewed sense of vigor. If he could escape from all that he had before, this place would be a piece of corn. Swaying his head back and forth, he tried to see what would be the best way to escape.

Sniff… sniff… a hot breath breathed down him back.

Turning his head slightly, his eyes met the big brown eyes of a massive black and white creature. His lower beak fell open as the large creature continued to stare and pant in his face. Its breath was moist and hot and filled his nostrils with an awful smell. It nearly caused him to faint, but he hadn't stared death in the face for nothing… this was only another version it. The creature took in a deep breath and released a loud bark right in his face.

He could feel his feathers start to ruffle as his bowls escape him. His knees knocked back and forth, not sure of what the creature wanted from him. The beast took in another deep breath and barked once more, only this time it stuck its butt with its wiggling tail up into the air and lay down on its front half. He felt it coming, though he didn't want to do it. He thought if he could just stand as still as he could the creature might leave him be. It was still coming though… he couldn't hold it in any longer… he could help but release a giant…

Buk… buk… BUKKA!

He jumped up into the air and flapped his wings as hard as he could. The creature had been waiting for him to do this. It too jumped up excitedly and tried to catch him as he fell back to the ground. But he was smarter than that. Kicking his legs back, he managed to vault off the beast's nose and landed a few feet from it. The creature whined and rubbed its now sore nose with it front leg. He turned around to see that he was victorious over the monster. Turning his back to it, he dug deep into the soft dirt and kicked it into the direction of the beast. He strutted down the dirt and stone pathway, quite content with his victory over something that was much larger than himself.

Grr… there was a low growling coming from behind him.

He knew that he shouldn't look, but one can't help not to. The creature's mouth was curled back and showed all of its curved white fangs. Its big brown eyes were turning redder by the second and the fur along its back stood straight up. He maybe shouldn't have done that. Releasing another buk buk bukka, he set out at top speed to escape the now pursuing monster. It matched him at every turn, though he seemed to have a better grip on the ground and didn't skid as much as the creature. Although, no matter how many times he ducked and weaved, it was able to catch up to him. His legs were starting to burn and it was getting harder to breathe. The beast would be upon him any moment and snatch him up in his jaws of death. The doves… they teased him once more. They saw the chase coming closer and so they took off before it could reach them. If only he could to take off and fly far away from the menacing creature. He tried his wings, but only achieved a few inches off the ground. Once again he flapped his scrawny wings, but they were useless. The beast's breath was upon his back once again and he knew there was little time. If his dreams were to ever come true… if he was ever going to take flight, he was going to have to get away from the snapping jaws that now nipped at his blackened tail feathers.

He was determined to not let it end like this.

That's when he saw it, a hole in the tall green thing. It was just big enough or so he hoped. Though he could not feel his legs any longer, he urged them on to carry him just a little bit more. It was so close and so was the beast.

Whoosh!

He ran right through the hole.

Thwack!

The creature stopped dead in its tracks as it hit the large green thing. It whimpered and whined as it tried to poke its massive head through the hole, but it was just too large and the hole was just too small. All it managed to do was to poke its wiggling nose through.

Turning around to see if he had escaped his pursuer, he was happy to see that the creature was stopped by the green thing. Realizing that he hadn't been breathing, he took in a deep breath and collapsed onto what he assumed was grass. His legs felt like they would fall right off if he hadn't sat down… though he wasn't sure if he could get back up again.

The creature kept trying to push through the green thing, but all that was getting through was its nose. It sniffed and snorted as it pushed with all its might to get to where he was, but with little success. He was safe for now or so he hope. The chase was off, but surely it would start once more if the beast every got through. If he could run anymore, he didn't know.

"What are you doing?" a voice asked from behind the tall green thing.

The wiggling nose disappeared and the sound of whining filled the air.

"You know better than to dig up the hedges," the voice sounded disappointed, "Now go upstairs and wait for Prince Alastair to come back from his lessons. I don't want you digging up the entire courtyard."

The whining continued and the green thing started to rustle once more. With all his strength, where it was coming from he didn't know, he stood up and prepared to run once more.

"No, no," the voice was more firm, "Upstairs now!"

The rustling stopped and the green thing did not stir again.

The beast was gone and he was safe… for now, but probably not for long. No place was safe. Only the sky seemed to be a safe haven, but he had no way to get to them. It, along with the birds that flew over in them, mocked him in the cruelest way. It was there for the taking. It reached out, but offered no way to it. It was cold… though its color was bright. It would not let him up… though so many seemed to sail through it.

It was impossible…

He lowered his head. It was all dream… a dream that he could not obtain. Maybe he was a fool to think he could do more than anyone else. Maybe he was kidding himself into believing that he could be as graceful as a dove or gull. Maybe he should have just stayed in that wooden crate and allowed whatever it was happen to him. At least then, he would know of the horrors and trails he had been through. It would have been over to say the lease.

"Is that a chicken?" someone had found his hiding place.

As melancholy as he was, he still felt the urge and fear to run from any that would chase him. It was just in his nature to run… he was a chicken after all. He sprang up and ran from the person that noticed him. He didn't know where to go. Towards the stone building could mean facing that man again and going beyond the stone fencing could be more of what he had experienced before. Neither was a good option in his opinion. Though the unknown seemed to be the better way to go… the fire stick was just too scary to face again.

Without really thing about it, he made a quick turn towards the stone fencing. He didn't know what would be on the other side, but it had to be better than that man. The fencing was only just ahead, but the gaps between the posts were too small for him to fit through. The only way was to go over, but how could he do that. He couldn't fly… not like the doves and pigeons. He was lucky to make it a foot off the ground. Stuck… that was what he was. There was no way he could escape. He slowed his pace… what hope was there. Standing there, he pondered his fate. He guessed it was inevitable.

He looked once again to the open sky… to see if there was any hope… any way to change his destiny. The birds once again flew overhead. Why were they so special that they weren't bound to the ground? Why did they get to see the world from above? Why did they get to watch his dreams drain from his heart?

Why was he giving up?

Ruffling up his feathers, he shook away the doubts and fears that filled his heart and head. Kicking the dirt and green stuff into the air, he crouched down. The wind whipped through his comb as he ran at top speed, flapping his wings as hard as he could. Just at the last moment, he sprang into the air. The wind whistled through his feathers. He felt so free. The world had finally opened to him. He could see everything at once. He could see where the buildings tried to pierce the sky, but they could never violate it. The sky and sea seemed to kiss on the horizon.

Free… he finally felt…

GRAVITY!

The world that he tried to leave behind was starting to rush towards him or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, the ground was growing closer and all his flapping wasn't slowing his down. He flipped and turned about in the air as he tried to glide gracefully. It was all for not. The ground was closing in and his wings were useless. He closed his eyes and waited for the sickening crash.

Thunk!

It wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. He opened his eyes cautiously. Daylight broke through… well… he couldn't tell what it was. He didn't care… he was alive or so he hoped… he was alive…

HE WAS ALIVE!

He passed out.

…

"Oh would you look at that Bernard! There's a black chicken in the box!" a voice squealed.

"What's this!" another didn't sound too happy.

Opening his eyes, he found himself looking up at two different faces. One was that of a lady with a twinkle in her eye and a kind smile on her face. The man was frowning and staring down at him with suspicion.

"I know that a chicken is on the posters, but I didn't think they would send one with the kettle," the smiling woman giggled, "I've never seen a black chicken before. Maybe its some kind of promotion the kettle company is running?"

"Black chicken?" the frowning man gave him a hard stare, "That's not normal… this one is might be trouble…"

He didn't like how the frowning man sounded. He tried to move his legs, but they wouldn't listen. He tried his wings, but ended with similar results.

"Aw," the kindly woman covered her mouth, "The poor thing is so weak. You come here now," she gently cradled him in her arms.

"Don't be doing that Patsy!" the frowning man warned her.

"Oh Bernard!" she wouldn't listen to him, "He's so weak from his journey. I doubt that he could hurt a fly… oh," she lifted patted him on the back and noticed the soot floating off him, "He's dirty too. Don't worry now," she gently rubbed him on the beak, "I'll take care of you."

He didn't know what to expect as she wrapped him in a towel and started to boil some water. He could only watch as the two exchanged words. One's words were quiet, but stern and the other's were loud and harsh. They both settled down as the kindly woman pours the steaming water into a silver tub. Removing him from the towel, she placed him in the tub and began to pour and rub the water all over him. The warmth felt good as it trickled down his head and through his feather. It soothed his muscles and loosened the dirt and burned skin that had accumulated. The water slowly turned black as his feathers became white.

The woman seemed surprised to see that he was in fact a white chicken. The man just grumbled and complained as she fondled him. She pulled out some corn and fed him by hand. He slept in a box of hay next to the couple's bed, much to the protest of the frowning man. His strength slowly returned day by day and the kindly woman watched him progress. After many days and nights, the woman thought it would be good for him to run about with the other chickens.

They were like the chickens that he had been raised with. They pecked at the ground and dug for bugs and corn that hid under the dirt. They didn't seem to mind him nor he them. The roosters were proud enough and the hens were nice enough. But they didn't interest him. There was still a heaviness in his heart.

He looked up to the sky. It was the same blue sky that he had looked at every single day since he was a chick. It had always called to him… its residents had always mocked him. There they were… the doves… they took off from the roof and flew through air with the same grace they always had. He would never be able to join them. He just couldn't rise above it all... not without a terrible fall. Their shadows passed over him. He tried not to look, but old habits die hard. His eyes traced their movements through the air and something inside him fluttered.

It was something that he thought had died a long time ago. It whelmed up inside of him and came forth the only way he could express it.

Buk… Buk… BUKKA!

He proudly called as he took off down the field. His wings flapped while lifting him lightly off the ground.

"Would you look at that? He flies across the field so gracefully," the kindly woman remarked, "He's much faster than the other chickens we've got."

"That he does…," the frowning man rubbed his chin, "He's also seems a lot smarter than them too. Maybe I should…"

"Oh Bernard," the kindly woman hushed him, "Let him be."

"You shouldn't harm him… if I may advise," the shifty man spoke up, "He could become a prized racing bird. If he can run like that every single time and win… the chicks, especially the roosters that he would produce would sell for a lot of gold. Think about it. You could earn twice the gold off him in no time."

"Gold you say," this caught the frowning man's attention, "Alright… he can live, but only if he earns his keep," he sighed.

"Oh thank you Bernard," the kindly woman hugged the frowning man.

"Alright, alright," he hugged back, "Now you set up… whatever you're going to call him… I'll leave that up to you Patsy… in the chicken coop."

"Don't you worry," she smiled, "Come on," she motioned for him to follow her, "I'll get you some nice feed and a cozy nest to call your own… of course… I have to come up with… Oh!" an idea seemed to come to her, "Since you've been through so much and came through it all and you fly across the earth like you weren't even touching it and the fact that you look like you were born out of ashes, I'll call you Blazing Phoenix… though it sounds a little cliché… doesn't it?" she laughed as she asked him, "Maybe something else."

He released a heavy sigh. Her words were pleasant and kind. He knew that he could live there without a worry. This place that he had stumbled into may have not been paradise, but it was a place that he could fly. Of course, it was not in the air and he never got more than a few inches off the ground, but everyone would remark and yell about how he flew out of the gate and across the finish line.

He looked up at the blue cloudless skies. A few birds flew overhead. There was still that hope in his heart that one day he would join them, but for now he was content. He watched how the doves and pigeons would gather every time that he would take off. They stared at him as he blazed across the field, surpassing all that were ahead of him. They watched with jealous eyes as he raced at an astonishing pace. He knew that they wished they could do what he could. He knew that like he envied their flight, they envied his speed. Each had what each desired, but only he was happy with what he had. He flew not in the sky, but across the ground and most of all… in his heart.


	4. The Decision

It's been awhile since I've done a one shot, but since I've finished my Fable II story and working on my other two, I thought I should do another. I have one for the Hero's dog, but it's not done yet. That will have to be my next one. No, this one is dedicated to a tyrant of a man. A man that had thought to fight evil with evil. A man that wore a heavy crown. A man that we would call brother…

**The Decision**

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><p><em>Time is so short now. It is hard to say what day will the last. I have seen the darkness… it will come… there is no stopping it… it will consume all that it touches. It will surround the shores of Albion. It will glide over the lands. It will sweep over walls and fortresses as if there was nothing. The darkness shall enter this place and go through all the rooms until it has found me…<em>

_When I faced it the first time, I was arrogant and foolish. I thought nothing could stand in my way. Power had come so easily to me… my mother handed to me… on… her death bed. I took it and never looked back. I thought being the son of a Hero would make me strong… untouchable. I went across my kingdom and rid it of the most monstrous creatures. I went into places that no mortal would. Where others would never leave, I came out triumphed. Nothing stood in my way. I saw everything that my kingdom had to offer. I saw what had to be seen. There was no corner that I hadn't been to. I believed that I held Albion in my hand. There was nothing more to it… but then a sign from another shore came…_

_It pointed a land that had yet been discovered… or one that had been long forgotten. It didn't matter. It was a new place to explore and conquer. I would be the person to come and see what this new world had to offer. Getting there would not be easy… for the son of a normal. No… I was the son of a Hero. It would come to me like everything else. This new land would lay before me and quiver at my approach. It would feel my every step and know that I was a king._

_A king… that has very little meaning to me these days. It is a title only. A word to put in front of my name… it mocks me every time it is said._

_How much I wish I could scream to the heavens for people to stop calling me that. How I wish that I could remain… just Logan… this crown… it was so light when Walter placed it upon my brow… now… it sinks into my skull… pulling and pushing at my skin and hair. If only this terrible weight would crush my head… then I might have some peace. It is both a sign of power and a sign of worry… a simple golden circlet with the symbol of my mother adorns my head… I could take it off any time I want, but it would still stay._

_I must keep it on. It is my birthright. It is what unites the people… it is what tears them from me. They don't understand what I know… what I keep under this crown of precious metal. If only they knew what I saw in the dark places of a land across the sea… Aurora…_

_You nearly took me. I thought you were a land to tame and understand. Instead you turned my world upside and tore it to shreds. All the power I thought I had… the strength… the will… the life… it was all taken from me. The darkness drug me from my high place and threw me into an abyss that no light penetrates… it showed me how weak… how easily I can and will be broken. It pierced me through and through… my soul shatter… my body broken… my mind… where has it gone? I still don't know how I managed to emerge into the sunlight. When it first touched me skin, I fell to me knees and cried… the light was so beautiful… still… I turned from it. I now knew what I was facing. I stared at it and it stared back…_

_I came with light to defeat it. I left with darkness. Light alone cannot banish it. The brighter the light… the deeper the darkness. No amount of light will ever be able to destroy it. I knew that. I knew that no matter what I did when went back to Albion, it would come for me… it would come for everyone. The seer said there was no stopping… it would come. I promised I would do everything in my power to see to the safety of Albion… to my people… to my… brother… they should never have to know what I face. They should never have to know the evil that lies in wait… I tried the ways that my mother instilled… but they were not enough…_

_The people suffer... they toil away for something bigger than what they know. They build up their kingdom for a battle that has yet to happen. They bring about an army to defend them from the true terror… they think me a tyrant… they know not the meaning… they know not how I suffer with them… each decree… each law… each painful speech… each sentence carried out… I die… I die… I die thousands a day… each of their cries of pain and hunger pierces me like a sword._

_Only if they were swords… I could rest… I'm so weary…_

_Sleep is not sweet. I only see darkness. I only hear the dying screams of my men as they were swallowed up by unseen shadows. They clawed and scratched as creatures of stone and darkness pulled them into an abyss. They didn't die soon enough. Their cries echoed off the walls and into my ears. Nothing could stop the endless screams… maddening…_

_I am mad… the world makes no sense… it doesn't have to anymore… there is only one thing left for me to do…_

_Ensure that my brother has a kingdom left to rule… after the darkness has passed. He must pick up the pieces that I leave behind. He has already taken the first steps in becoming the man I know he will become. Still… I wonder… can he… be… a…_

"My lord," one of his elite soldiers entered with a bow, "There is news of your brother, Prince Alistair."

"What is it?" he hissed as he clinched the rim of the map table.

"Prince Alistair is raising an army against you…," the soldier reported, "He has joined forces with the Bowerstone Resistance. What should we do if we come across him?"

Logan sighed and drew in a deep breath, "Kill him."

"Yes your Majesty," the soldier bowed as he left the room.

He waited until he heard the click of the door. Looking down to the map of his kingdom, he let a single tear fall.

"I am so sorry little brother… I am so sorry for what I've had to do," he fell to his knees, "I am not strong enough to do what the seer ask. I have seen the darkness and have witnessed its power. It has seen straight in to my heart… my soul… it is embedded deep… it is within me. I know that you are truly mother's son. You are the true Hero that the people have been waiting for," he tried to stand up, but his legs would not move, "Deliver them from my injustices. Deliver Albion from the encroaching darkness," he looked up, "Deliver me from myself!"

He fell to the floor in a heap.


	5. Gnome place like Home

No one likes to be insulted, but for some strange reason I love to listen to those evil little grimacing gnomes. I don't know why, but I just start giggling when they start talking. Of course, I then shoot them with my trusty pistol or rifle. Then I go on to the next one. I've beating the game, but I have yet to complete the "Gnomes are Evil" quest. It will be sad when I shoot that last gnome. I will relish it… Oh well. If you couldn't guess, this story is about our pointy hatted fiends… I mean friends and all the wonderful insults that spew from their smiling faces.

I would say that I love the gnomes, but I think that the feeling isn't mutual.

**Gnome place like Home**

* * *

><p>"Sure is a beautiful day… except where you're standing!" the little fellow called out to the passersby, "You remind me of my mother… SHE WAS FAT AND UGLY TOO!"<p>

He laughed to himself as he called out all sorts of creative insults at those that dared to pass by. There were many people wandering through the streets of Bowerstone that day. All sorts of funny looking ones. In his mind, they were all fair game to his witty retorts. He would daze with them with his riotous mother references. He would embarrass them with his suggestive inquiries. He would infuriate them with his hilarious observations. After all, he did have a bird's eye view of their world. He couldn't ask for a better place to be located. A lovely little garden where all sorts of people gathered and stopped to admire the rare scene of greener.

It was a shame though that they couldn't hear or 'enjoy' his wondrous wit.

Another victim entered the garden, "Excuse me," he called down to the brown hair stranger, "do you have the time… to get stuffed?" he laughed wildly.

The young man looked up, as if he heard something. His eyes made contact with his. A frown formed on his face as he looked around.

Could it be that this young man heard his ingenious insult?

"Oh, I didn't notice you there. How do you like being so insignificant?" he tried not to act excited.

The brown hair snorted and then sighed as he looked back up to his lofty perch.

He had heard him!

"I could help you find what you're looking for. Step One: Pull your head out our arse!" he laughed and grinned as the young man continued to look around.

Another couple had entered the garden and started to enjoy the green grass, fragrant flowers and elder tree. The young man frowned even more as more and more people kept entering and leaving. He rolled his eyes up to the high up perch and gave a good hard stare.

"YOUR MOTHER!" he was so tickled pink that the young man was frustrated.

With one more sigh, the young man sat down on one of the wooden benches. He crossed his legs and lend back as if he was waiting for something. He would look up on the occasion and then around at the people. After seeing that the flow of people wasn't stopping, he settled in.

This would be a lot of fun he thought, "You should go somewhere nice and peaceful. Like a CEMETRY!"

The young man just sat there.

Obviously that wasn't nasty enough, "The ladies must really love you. You could share makeup tips and trade shoes!"

He glanced up, but just continued to sit and enjoy the mostly peaceful place.

He thought for a moment. He would have to bring out the most insulting insults he could think of.

"You look familiar. Oh yeah, I remember, you look like this girly I used to shag!" nothing, "Look at you – rippling muscles, broad shoulders, a squared jaw… You sure are a weird looking lady!" not even a glare, "I can tell you where there's a nice big chest of gold coins… You can use them to by yourself some new handbags!"

The brown haired man shifted a little to get more comfortable but wouldn't look up. Suddenly a slobbering black and white dog came running up and ruining the scenic greenery with its barking and whining. It ran up the young man and sat down in front of him. He greeted the drooling beast with a pat on the head and a good rub behind the ears. The dog seemed satisfied by this and laid down next to him.

"That's a nice doggy… If you like skinny little ugly RUNTS!" he thought that was a rather good one.

The dog looked up to his master and whined. The young man only gave him a reassuring pat.

"Ohhh, I love doggies. I love throwing them into the river in a sack!" he laughed.

The dog whined even more as he covered his ears. The man looked up in a glare. It was so delicious to see him angry. Pulling away his blue coat, the man revealed a pistol in his belt.

"Nice weapon you've got there," he chuckled, "What are you compensating for something!?" that was always a good one.

Pulling his coat back over, the young man went back to sitting peacefully on the bench.

There must be something that would get this person react.

"You remind me of an old friend… he was a twit. JUST LIKE YOU!" he knew that no one like being called a twit.

No reaction of the part of the young man. The dog would want to look up, but his master just shook his head no.

He would have to think on this one. Very few people could hear his genius and even fewer could do something about it. They would scream to the heavens and ask where that annoying little voice was coming from. People would stop and stare, wondering what the person was yelling about. They would insist that they were hearing someone shouting horrid insults at them. Insults that no one else seemed to hear. It would be so bad that sometimes soldiers in the red uniforms would come and try to calm the situation down. Most would say that they shouldn't go to the pub so often and that would be the end of it. That was no fun though. The real fun was when the soldiers in the silver helmets would come. They would stand over the poor sod and not say a word. The moment that the person would try to say something or move, they would reign down punches and kicks until they were tried. The one was once was screaming about disembodied voices would now be crying and moaning it pain. What joy it was to see a man sniveling as his nose bled and bones snapped.

"My favorite things are music and sunshine and love. And pain," he sighed contently, "Mostly pain."

The young man only rolled his eyes. That was something at least.

There were so many things that he could say. He really hadn't gotten to his best material yet. So many things he could say and he had all the time in the world. There was nothing that the young man could do. Many that had found his little hiding place tried to break him with stones and bottles. The few that had guns were horrible shots… probably because they just came from the pub.

"If I had a friend like you, I could tell them all my secrets. Like

that I'm going to set you on fire!" that one always made their cheeks red.

The young man continued to stare off into the distance, "You'll have to better than that. I've heard them all. Your brothers all have the same insults," he looked around, but frowned when a few more people came to admire the flowers.

His brothers? Was this the hero that was going around and shooting his brothers? Was this pathetic sod that took aim with his bent weapon and sent them back to the grove where the more pathetic Brian whined and cried that his precious gnomes were not happy to be with him? Was this that… hero as they called him?

He felt an anger whelm up with in, "You're dead! I'm going to rip your eyeballs out! Remember this day, the last day you were safe! I've killed for less! I'm going to bring you down on your head! Hear me!? I'm going to haunt your nightmares, and when you wake up shaking, I'll be there to kill you! Do you hear me!? I'm going to bloody kill you!"

He let forth every slur and evil word he could think of. He watched as the hero just sat there watching the ignorant people walked and talked of pleasant times. He just sat there with a growing smirk on his face. With every insult the hero's lips curled more and more. He wouldn't look up to him or even acknowledge him. His drooling mess of a dog wasn't even whining anymore, but laid quietly by his side. The insults didn't seem to reach either of them now.

There was only one last thing that he could think of to say, "YOUR MOTHER!"

Nothing. No emotions. Just that curled smirk. That twisted little smirk that mocked silently.

He had used every piece of material that he had on this lowly hero. But nothing was working.

What else could he say? He never really had much else to say. There was always something to make fun of or a button to push. This hero though… he acted as if he was nothing. Like he was the insignificant one. Never had anyone been able to ignore him for so long. He could go through all of his best insults, but this hero would probably just sit and stare.

"You know," he pondered out loud, "I can't help myself most of the time. If you had to spend every waking moment with that twat of a man, you would be evil too. All fifty of us had to sit there quietly and listen in silence as he would go on and on about how his mother would berate him and complain how only we understood who he really was. He's a man after all… we're gnomes for Skorm's sake. We're little men in pointed red hats that are supposed to keep demons out of people's gardens. Not that we actually do that," he added, "We're supposed to sit nicely amongst lettuce and radishes… not me though," he had to admit, "I would prefer to be in a flower garden… you know… the ones with peonies and roses… roses with big thorns that rip clothes and scratch skin," he laughed, "I never wanted to be sitting in a secret moldy cove and be told the life story of a sad little man over and over and over," he growled loudly, "No wonder why everyone thinks he's mad. A grown man that dresses like garden ornaments… please tell me that you think that that's a little strange."

The hero nodded his head in agreement.

If his lips weren't already in a grin, they would be. Finally he met someone that could see that Brian the gnome imprisoner was more than a tad touched in the head.

"You know… I think that he just doesn't want to admit that he wants to be like everyone else," he started to ramble on about a man that he had loathed for years, "That what's everyone wants. They rather do what everyone else does… less thought then… thinking for most seems to be difficult. Not me… I like to think that I'm different from the rest. I know what you're thinking," he looked down to the hero, "I look like my brothers… but I'm not… I'm a million times worse," he was rather proud, "There's no place that I won't go. From your appearance to your mother… but you know that," he sighed at the thought of the hero ignoring his wondrous slights, "It's hard coming up with new material everyday… it's even harder getting people to listen to you. Sure lots of poor sods come into the garden, but most of them can't even hear me. It's downright frustrating," he sighed at days gone past, "But for those few that can… well it makes my day. You know… makes me feel alive… as alive as a gnome can feel," he really wasn't sure what it meant to feel alive, "I was as giddy as a whore who found a man with deep pockets when I was finally able to leave that dank little cove, stuck with that nutter of a man. He actually told us that if he could he would build a house that looked like a gnome and live it. The man needs to see a shrink about his unhealthy obsession with us," he would shiver if he could, "I'm talking in circles though… Though I am the happiest gnome in the world to be away from that man, I can't help but complain about him. I've been in his… collection for so long, I forgot what it was like to be a gnome. He gave us each names. You know what name he gave me? Eugene… have you ever heard of a gnome named Eugene?" he looked down to the hero.

He shook his head no.

"That's right… because there isn't a gnome named Eugene… except for me…," he sighed, "Eugene… that name should be stricken from all name books, lists, and whatever else contains names for all of time. Eugene… what a name… all the other gnomes would laugh at me whenever that twit would call me by name. I would break them all if I could…," he thought for a moment, "… maybe… maybe that's why… I like to shout insults at people. All those times that the other gnomes would make fun of me for the name that was given to me… given to me by that… that…," he was growing more and more furious by the moment, "that TWAT OF A MAN! It's his fault that I'm the way I am. A different name… a different name is all that I ask for! Maybe then I could enjoy what is around me," he looked to the setting sun, "Maybe if I was called Jerry or Norman or… or … or… Ricky… yeah," he liked the way that sounded, "HEAR ME ALBION! FROM THIS DAY FORTH, I Ricky the Gnome will enjoy every day that I don't have to be near that nutter of a man! I also promise to be kind and only say wonderful things about all that I see… unless they're really, really ugly," he couldn't give up being evil completely, "What do you say to that hero? I've turned over a new leaf and ready to live a life that is worth living… well," he looked at his position, "as much as one can stuck in one place."

The young man had stood up during his rather moving speech that promised change and renewal. From his belt he pulled his pistol and took aim.

"You know what they say," he lined him up in his sights, "There's Gnome place like home."

The bullet flew from the barrel and hit him straight in between the eyes. He felt himself being sucked from his perch over the garden.

As the peaceful scene faded and the moon started to rise, he shouted at the top of his ceramic lungs, "What the hell!?"

"Oh… look whose here," a familiar voice greeted him.

He looked around and nearly fell off the stony perch. About twenty of so of his gnome brothers stared back at him with their evil smiles. There he sat once more in the little cove where he and the others were hidden in shame.

"It's Eugene," another laughed, "the twat of a hero knocked you off your perch?"

"He's no better than the rest of us," another teased, "Maybe the worst of us."

The others started to laugh.

"I'm a million times worse than the lot of you," he growled, "and my name is RICKY!"

The End


End file.
